Battery Park

It’s 9 am, and I’m walking against the grain, against the hordes of commuters going to work, passing west over the north side of Ground Zero. There aren’t as many suits as I might have expected. I glance over each row of faces as I pass. None of them are hers.

I cross down into Battery Park, following a group of tourists who are headed toward Clinton Castle. At the bay’s edge, I have a clear view of the Statue of Liberty, so gracious and majestic still, though she’s been having a hard time of late with so much of what she stands for being hypocritically challenged by ignorant or disingenuous fearmongers and warmongers.

It was twenty years ago to the month, if not to the date, when I last explored this area, on vacation with my family. Being in New York then was like living in a dream. It’s still that way for me sometimes, when I happen to pass through Times Square late at night or early in the morning, while the crowds are sleeping in nearby hotels. This is one of those moments. I’m thinking about taking the Staten Island Ferry, just for the hell of it, but I decide I’ll save that adventure for another day. I’ve already strayed far enough from home.

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